Once More
by Luciiraptar
Summary: With new threats appearing, old enemies don't want to lie down. A new generation of Spartans is being created, trained by the older generations and the Sangheili, and they'll have to deal with those old enemies, even as they uncover things that could endanger the entire galaxy. Rated mainly for violence.
1. Prologue

**A/N: So I'm replacing the first chapter because I had a shiny idea and ran off with it. Then I stopped, took a moment, stepped back, considered, and began again. Short first chapter; the next, things begin to happen and it's all shiny and exciting. So here's the new first chapter of my new amazing story now even better.**

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** February 12, 2559**

** HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-Six**

** Australia, Earth**

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Dr. Miranda Sanders was almost shaking. Almost, but not quite.

The doors slid apart and she stepped out, and found herself in front of the head of ONI, Serin Osman, and the rest of the UNSC brass as well. She couldn't detect any emotions on Serin's face, which hopefully meant that she had a chance.

She took a deep breath and began her presentation, tapping on her data pad to bring up footage of the Spartan-IVs fighting on Requiem. "As everyone knows, the newest generation of Spartan soldiers are impressive. Using existing military personnel and mild genetic modifications, they are undeniably powerful. The addition of previous Spartan generations to the program has only made them more effective. But the Sangheili traditionalists are gaining ground, and there are reports of increased Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar movements. They're exceptional, but soon exceptional won't be enough. Even the second-generation Spartans could barely go hand-to-hand with Jiralhanae."

Serin leaned forward, and Miranda felt her heart beginning to race. The women stared at each other, one impassive and the other frightened, and then the admiral asked, "Are you suggesting we do what Halsey did? Kidnap children, indoctrinate them, modify them?"

Miranda shook her head hurriedly. "No, no. Although, sadly, children are the most… modifiable…" She couldn't help the shudder that passed through her at that; the stories of the Spartan-II project were terrible. "We can't do that. So we'll have to go with second-best: Volunteers. Preferably in the sixteen-to-eighteen range. Still genetically malleable, and willing. With new protocols, we could produce soldiers whose skills rival or even surpass the Spartan-IIs." She brought up the list of procedures. "We would have to genetically screen everyone, of course. Genetic defects like being prone to heart disease could cause fatal complications later."

Serin nodded slowly and leaned back. One of the others asked, "What would their training be like?"

"They'd receive specialized training according to their combat proficiencies, as decided in their third year of training." She brought up the list of specializations. "INFILTRATOR-class Spartans will have active camouflage technology, as well as sniper rifle training and hacking experience. ENGINEER-class Spartans will carry heavy weapons, turrets, and modification kits into the field. VANGUARD-class Spartans will carry close-quarters weapons, have more powerful shields, and will be able to clear rooms in seconds. SENTINEL-class Spartans will carry the latest plasma and beam-based weaponry into battle. ADEPT-classes will have a number of neural implants and augmentations that improve their perception and reaction times; they will be expert tacticians, and, with permission, will work closely with AIs. Each specialization will receive MJOLNIR armor tailored to their unique needs."

Serin leaned forward again. "You're still suggesting we use children, Doctor."

Miranda shook her head. "The first round of augmentations remain viable until twenty or so, ma'am. I'm merely suggesting we begin with teenagers. My suggested training schedule recommends a year of training before the first augmentations, and then two more years before the second round of augmentations. Another half-year of training before receiving armor. Another year of training after that before deployment."

"That's a lot of time to wait before we have your Spartans, Doctor."

"It's worth it to have a group of soldiers who can do almost any mission. And in time, we may be able to make some of these genetic modifications standard for all troops."

Admiral Serin Osman considered, then nodded. "Okay. You'll get your funds. You'll get whatever you need. But I want to see results."

"Yes, ma'am," Miranda said, her fear of ONI overshadowed by her joy at success. And then she had one more request to make: "Admiral, as you know, the Sangheili recently announced their use of cabals — the specialized fighting units comprised mainly of women that perform black ops. I would like to have a few of them to help train the Spartans, as well as whatever Second- and Third-generation Spartans you can spare."

Once again, Serin nodded. "Like I said, Doctor. You'll get whatever you need."


	2. Attacks

**A/N: More exposition? Not until you get some action! I will warn you, I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but now I have a semi-solid plan for this story (as in, a backbone, but no flesh to put in it yet) so the quality can only improve, I promise. In the meantime, how about you review, gentle reader? Preferably after you read this.**

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**March 3, 2559 [Earth Standard]**

** Vadam Keep, Sanghelios**

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Zora 'Vadam paced her small room, growling quietly to herself. She was a member of the elite Fifth Sangheili Cabal, and waiting for an assignment.

It was about seven years ago that the first Cabal was formed; a specialized unit, designed to help hold the Forerunner-worshipers at bay.

Her door blew open suddenly, and she reacted on instinct: Before she had even registered that there was a Jiralhanae in her doorway, she had dropped down and driven her foot into its crotch, and even bone gave way to her strike. Then she unloaded a charged shot from her plasma pistol into the wound, finishing the beast off with a single shot to its head.

Behind it were two more Jiralhanae; she activated her sword and flexed her mandibles. "One of you should try," she rumbled, loving the adrenaline pushing through her veins. "I will enjoy slaughtering your pack."

One of the beasts roared and charged.

Zora watched, feeling almost bored, and at the last second stepped to the side and swiped upward, letting out a grim laugh as her sword cut straight up through the Jiralhanae, from its waist to the side of its neck. It let out a final, gurgling roar, and then fell into two pieces. She didn't spare it a second glance, because the second was charging. She tried a swing, but it knocked the sword from her hand, and so she pressed the plasma pistol into its throat and fired as many times as she could, but the damned thing wouldn't die, and it knocked the pistol aside.

It roared in her face, and Zora briefly considered asking the local Alphas to distribute those breath-freshening pills the humans made. Then she snapped a fist into its jugular. It choked, but only for a second before it was even more enraged; the beasts were certainly resilient, Zora admitted begrudgingly. She nearly sighed as it picked her up and threw her, and she grunted as she impacted the wall of her bedroom, quickly rolling onto her feet. Her eyes darted around her room and… ah. She rolled and her fingers closed around the dull metal practice sword, a gift from a lover, and swung as hard as she could. The dull blade connected with the Jiralhanae's skull, sending it sprawling, though it was soon on its knees, then feet.

Zora grunted, feeling her chest. Nothing seemed too badly broken. With luck, she wouldn't need a doctor. She didn't have time for more analysis because she was then moving on instinct, dodging the beast's blow and swinging her practice sword into its throat. Before it had a chance to recover, she kicked its chest (ignoring the pain in her own) and dove for her energy sword's hilt, activating it and swinging in the same motion, sensing rather than seeing the Jiralhanae advancing…

She let out a soft breath as it let out its final roar and stumbled to the floor, its steaming guts pouring out. She'd have to either get it cleaned or find new quarters. Her second-in-command, Cala, stumbled in, bleeding heavily from her right arm. "Three Jiralhanae," she grumbled as she pressed one of Zora's dresses to the wound, prompting a snort. "Only three? Do they think we are Unggoy or Kig-Yar? Zora, please tell me that you had no trouble in your fight."

The Sangheili woman grunted as she sat down next to Cala. "I may have injured a rib. But I'll heal. And you?"

"One of them carried a metal knife. But I shall live, as well." Her mandibles worked slowly as she considered something, and then asked, "Do you suppose it was for…"

Zora placed a hand on Cala's uninjured arm to silence her. "That was many years ago, Cala, and nobody knows but us. That is as it should be."

The other woman nodded, finishing tying strips of cloth around her arm. "Long ago and in another city; besides, the wench is dead." The strange human joke brought a chuckle to both Sangheili, and they finished tending to themselves. "Perhaps we should tell. I could suffer the dishonor."

Zora shook her head. "We fought too hard to get our positions, Cala 'Nor, and it's been too long. Perhaps one day, when we are old, we will see. When we cannot be punished for our youth."

Cala grunted. "Secrets weigh heavily on my soul, Zora 'Vadam. So if it is not that, then it must be our work. Because of the humans, or the colonies?"

Zora considered that. Many among the Sangheili still considered the humans to be vermin, though Zora was fond of them. They were industrious and produced strong weapons. It would not be completely inconceivable for another Sangheili to hate them for that, and the breaking of tradition. Jiralhanae mercenaries were easy to find; whatever packs were left were usually available for hire.

On the other hand, the Fifth Cabal was noted for its operations against Jiralhanae colonies, completely destroying them. The two hundred soldiers of the Fifth boasted nearly two million kills between them. Sometimes conventionally; sometimes with asteroid drops; sometimes with plasma bombardment. They used asteroids when they didn't want to get close, and plasma when they didn't care. Zora and Cala were the most prolific team among their Cabal.

Eventually she decided, "It must be one of the Sangheili." She looked at the fallen Jiralhanae with disgust. "They do not have the intelligence to attack us during the night."

"The question is," Cala rumbled, "which?"

That question occupied the pair for a few more minutes, and they both shot to their feet, hands on their weapons, as the door opened again. When they saw who it was, though, they relaxed.

Lucy, SPARTAN-B091, relaxed her grip on the tablet she was holding. "If you two are busy, I can come back later." She glanced at the corpses, then Cala's wound. "With biofoam, if you need it."

Cala shook her head; the human invention was temporary and a doctor would be needed later. She would survive. Zora stood and shook the diminutive human's hand; even in armor, she was dwarfed by the Sangheili. Although it didn't help that Lucy had refused to upgrade her armor, staying in the inferior SPI armor. Zora would have thought her foolish, but she had seen the human fight with honor and strength, and an admirable grace. Zora greeted the human and asked, "Why do you come here? Ambassadors do not visit soldiers."

Lucy took the helmet off, and Zora could see her grimace as she spoke in her soft way. "I'm not the ambassador, Zora 'Vadam, I just ferry the orders."

"Sounds ambassadorial to me," Cala murmured, and the two Sangheili laughed as Lucy crossed her arms over her chest plate, a human gesture of annoyance. The Sangheili in the keep often teased the Spartan for gaining a position she did not want. Those that spoke to her.

The human took a breath. "You're to report to the _Undying Honor_. And you're going to be seeing a lot more of me. It's a UNSC-Elite joint project." She offered the tablet. "It's in English, but there's a translation glyph for you."

Zora took the tablet, which felt strange in her hand, and tapped the glyph in the corner to change the strange human lettering to more familiar words.

_Attention, Operatives Zora 'Vadam and Cala 'Nor: Enter your codes._

Zora input _She who walks the path of honor is an exalted warrior._ She didn't know Cala's code, and didn't care to as she handed it to the other Sangheili. They shifted close to read it at the same time.

_Report to the _Undying Honor_, alongside designated human forces. You will head to a human military base and help train new Spartan units that will aid in the defense of Sanghelios._

Zora's mandibles flexed slowly, and she grunted. "Someone needs to clean up my room. I'll be on the ship as soon as I can be."

Lucy nodded, saluted, and left. Zora and Cala both sat on the bed. Cala remarked, "We're going to be separated from our Cabal. The last time that happened…"

Both females sighed at the memory, and then Zora sharpened. "Still. We do not lack a squad this time. We do not lack…"

"Supervision?" Cala suggested, a wry chuckle coming from her. "We will be on a Sangheili warship, Zora, with humans. And then at a base. With humans." Her bottom mandibles sucked in slightly, a gesture of nervousness, and then she asked, "And what would you do if we were left alone, Zora?" The female let her hand linger on Zora's arm, and Zora let it for a moment, allowing the memories to wash over her. The long nights, the longer days. Nothing to do as they awaited orders…

Zora pushed Cala's hand away gently. "It is still a long time ago, Cala 'Nor."

Cala sighed and nodded. "And the wench is still dead. I understand." And she left.

It wasn't long before Unggoy came to clean Zora's room, and she began to assemble her things. She would need to requisition a new plasma pistol, and perhaps she'd ask for an older model. The newer ones lacked the punch the older ones had. She packed all of her weapons into a case: Her sword, her rifle (one of the older needle rifles, very useful), a plasma repeater, and a human shotgun. Another gift from a lover, something picked from the battlefield.

After that, she put on her armor. It was simple and black, modified vacuum-ready armor. Its black helmet gleamed dully, and she breathed a sigh of relief when it was on. The armor's AI performed system checks and came back with two bruised ribs, although Zora was otherwise fine, and the armor was functioning perfectly.

She would be gentle with her body, until she healed. She could be, on a ship. Her armor had medical gel ports that would apply salves to her. No blood lost. No honor lost. She would heal.

It was a while before she made it to the _Undying Honor_, as Zora simply wanted to make sure that the Unggoy cleaned her room properly. When she was satisfied, she made her way to the ship, and then to her Shipmaster, Renne 'Vadam, to see where her quarters would be. She sighed when she saw that she would be in a room with Cala, but did not complain. That would arouse suspicion, and she did not want anyone to look too closely at them.

Resignedly, the Sangheili trudged to her room, carrying her maintenance kit and weapons case, which also carried a few dresses for informal occasions. With Cala around, she was sure to find reasons to wear them.

She passed a few Huragok, who made their gentle noises at her, and she tilted her head in acknowledgement. The timid creatures were no longer simple, floating beasts that the Sangheili ordered about; they were respected. These were descended from the original Forerunner Huragok found in the shield-world the humans once called "Onyx" but now called "Trevelyan."

They weren't ordered, they were asked. And the Sangheili would never dream of harnessing them like those crude Jiralhanae had. What was the human word for them? "Brutes." Accurate.

She stepped into her quarters, glancing around. There were two beds and two weapons stations, one of which Cala was already sitting at, tending to her plasma rifle. She tilted her head to acknowledge Zora's entrance and didn't stop her careful maintenance. Rupturing any plasma lines could lead to an explosion or worse, so they needed to be checked before and after each battle, if there was time. Of course, incorrect maintenance could cause a rupture.

Zora stripped off her armor and then sat down with a grunt at her bench, unpacking all of the guns. She stripped the shotgun first, although it was difficult because the tools were made for five smaller fingers, but her touch was deft and she was clever.

She cleaned it meticulously, and then set it aside to tend to her needle rifle. Then she felt hands on her shoulders, and spun to glare sharply at Cala, who simply flexed her mandibles in what the humans would call a 'smile.' "We are alone now, you know. And those memories do not seem as far away."

Zora let out an admittedly half-hearted growl, which turned into something akin to a purr when Cala's hands shifted across her shoulders to her throat, gently drawing strong fingers across it, and then from her throat to her chest. Her eyes were closed and her chest was in pain, but she didn't want anything else at that moment.

Then she felt a playful nip, and growled at Cala. The other female simply let out a soft chuckle and her warm, infuriating tongue darted against Zora's neck. If this went on for one more second, she would — she didn't get the chance to finish that thought, because the door slid open, and Cala darted away from Zora as both females tried to look like nothing had just happened. Zora so desperately wanted to believe that lie.

Lucy stepped inside and glanced between the two of them, then smiled. The girl was without her armor, and it seemed strange to Zora. It appeared to seem strange to Lucy as well, because she was shifting awkwardly as she said, "At least I didn't interrupt an assassination attempt this time." She stepped forward so the door slid shut, then leaned against the wall. "I don't know about the Sangheili, but it's not a taboo in human culture. Two females, that is. It used to be, but not anymore. And whatever your business, it's none of mine." She pulled out a data pad, offering it. "I'm here because we have more information on this project. I've already read it, so I could summarize it for you if you want."

It took Zora a considerable amount of effort to clear her throat and say, "That would be kind, Lucy."

"Okay, so, new batch of Spartans, officially designated SPARTAN-IV-Beta. Have you ever seen a Spartan-II?" Both Zora and Cala nodded; they had both worked with a Spartan, Linda, before. "Well, that's what they're aiming for. Young adult volunteers, genetic alterations, implantations, et cetera. They're to be schooled formally and all that. The exciting bit is after that. They're to be trained by a combination of the usual drill sergeants, older-generation Spartans, and Sangheili."

Both Zora and Cala nodded. Cala asked, "What is their purpose?"

"As far as I can tell, everything." Lucy bites her lip as she reviews the data pad. "The first Spartans were made for counter-insurgency. They weren't the demons the Covenant saw until the Covenant came. The Threes were made for suicide ops. And with both of them, you could tell. It's in the training. But they're being trained for everything." With that, she falls silent suddenly, hand flying to her throat as if she just realized that sounds were coming out of it. It didn't happen too often anymore, but Zora and Cala both knew that the girl had suffered emotional scars before, that she had been silent for a long time. And they knew that she still carried those scars.

Her question was answered, so she decided to divert Lucy before she could go down old paths. "It isn't illegal in Sangheili culture, it is simply not talked about. It is considered dishonorable. And in some traditionalist keeps, it is punishable by death. Even if you are not in their keep."

The diminutive Spartan nodded. "I understand. I won't tell anyone. Not even my mother." That brought a small, sad smile to her face. "How's the situation, then? Holding?"

"Barely," Cala grumbled. "There are a number of traditionalists that don't like the direction the 'Vadam lead kaidons are taking the loyalists. Old scars heal slowly and bleed easily, Spartan."

Zora nodded her agreement. "They call for the eradication of the Cabal Forces. They say that women need to tend to the keeps and manage the bloodlines, not sneak into enemy camps to kill everyone. They cling to their strict senses of honor that would have them killing themselves for simple mistakes. We still believe in honor. We just want to survive and help Sanghelios."

"If that's true, you should get your ribs checked out. You don't have to go see a doctor, I could just do a quick examination."

Zora shook her head in that way that indicated no to humans. "I will survive, Lucy. I have survived far worse."

Lucy nodded. "Okay, then. How does he manage it?"

"Carefully," Cala murmured, settling down at her bench to resume tending to her weapon.

Once again, Zora nodded. "It's a careful mixture of threats, promises, and spreading resources. The seat of power lies in a few keeps, and they're constructing a new keep outside of any Sangheili's territory to stand as the worldwide seat of power. It's shaky, but working. Do you know where we're going?"

"To Trevelyan. It's a scientific base now, and they have about thirty percent of it mapped to some degree."

Zora reached out to touch Lucy's arm slightly, not taking offense at the way she twitched away. She was, after all, trained to kill Sangheili. "How do you feel about this?" she asked gently. "This new class of Spartans."

Lucy relaxed a bit and admitted, "I'm conflicted. It's not like with the second or third generations. The Four-Betas will be an entirely volunteer force, although still on the young side of things. But they won't be children. And after Requiem, I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner. The Spartan-Fours are effective, but you can't modify someone who's thirty as much as you can modify someone who's sixteen. At least with Admiral Osman in charge of things, it'll all be humane. Nobody's frontal lobe is getting altered." She chuckled quietly to herself, and Zora didn't ask. She knew there were things she wouldn't get answers about from Lucy.

The Spartan girl sat next to Zora, looking over the shotgun, and began stripping it. Zora allowed it, as she knew the feeling of needing something to occupy her hands as she sorted her thoughts. Eventually, Lucy spoke again. "They're using a similar profile for selection. Volunteer. Orphan. No ties. Optimally psychologically stable, but they're not saying no to anyone a little crazy. Five hundred and fifty, split into five classes, each class comprised of eleven squads. To be adjusted as necessary. We'll be teaching one of the classes. There are more Cabal warriors, helping to teach the other classes."

Cala leaned close from her seat on the other side of the room. "Why are we needed?"

"I'm not sure," Lucy said, "but I have a few guesses. One is diplomatic. Having Sangheili helping with a major UNSC project like this is a good way to help soothe old wounds. Another is strategic: Your people are expert tacticians, especially the Cabals. The ability to infiltrate enemy areas like Cabal Sangheili would be useful for eight-feet-tall soldiers in two-ton armor."

"And no more?" Zora prompted.

Lucy shook her head. "There is a third idea I had. You could be there for target practice." Her smile assured them she was not serious. The human habit of telling "jokes" was strange to the Sangheili, but Zora had adjusted, spending so much time with the girl. And she could usually tell when Lucy was not being serious. "But, really, watch your backs. And don't get offended if someone calls you a hinge-head. Just because I knock them on their asses doesn't mean you get to, too."

Zora nodded, feeling herself automatically smile. Cala murmured, "As long as you don't mind when we call you Demon, Lucinda." Cala liked to say the human's full name, and occasionally Zora did as well. Forming her mandibles around the syllables was a fun challenge, on occasion. "And keep in mind that only we're allowed to hit other Sangheili."

Lucy chuckled, reassembling the shotgun. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. Might be hard, but I'll try to avoid hitting your friends. We're going to arrive in…" She flipped open a watch. "Two hours. I don't know what that is, your time, but I'm sure there's a way to figure it out."

Zora nodded, and did the mental calculations. It was… "Not long," Cala said happily. "Not long at all."

No, Zora agreed silently as they said goodbye to Lucy, not long at all. But long enough. Her hand curled around the back of Cala's neck, and the Sangheili threw her former lover onto the bed.


End file.
